No Mercy
by Saeto
Summary: Spoilers for the ending of Prototype 2.
1. The End

Spoilers for the ending of P2. This is my attempt at unfucking the ending. Enjoy.

Heller growled, his clawed fist tightening around the collar of Mercer's shirt, the man bloodied and beaten before him, yet his expression twisted into a faint smirk, even as blood spurted from the stumps of his arms. The punk was still mocking him, even now. He raised his other claw, reaching back to unleash the finishing blow, and Mercer looked up at him, and his phone started to ring.

He froze, and the whole tableau seemed to do the same; he noticed for almost the first time the cold rain dripping down his neck, the harsh gasping of his breaths, the helicopters hovering overhead, watching. The phone continued to ring.

"Are you going to get that?" Mercer's bemused voice broke through, recalling him to the present. He had the urge to ignore it, to finish Mercer off for good, to finally consume the smug bastard, even though the thought of taking in his memories made his stomach turn. But it had to be Dana calling- who else could it be?

"Fuckin' smart-ass," Heller spat, keeping his grip on Mercer as his other arm morphed back into a normal hand, reaching into his coat to pull out the stolen Blacknet phone. "Dana, what the fuck-"

"James, listen to me," she cut in, "I want to see him again- talk to him again, at least one more time. Please," and he'd never heard her beg like that. Not Dana Fuckin' Mercer. He hesitated, wondering how she just happened to have such perfect timing. Couldn't have waited another minute, when he'd have put an end to the fucked-up situation once and for all.

He gritted his teeth. Mercer was watching him closely, as if he knew exactly who he was talking to. To show weakness in front of this bastard... no, he couldn't stomach that. The fucker had been bad enough during their fight, gloating and arrogant and annoying as hell. He'd had his chance. Heller wouldn't give him another.

"James!"

Heller hung up the phone and tossed it away to clatter on the rooftop behind him. Mercer's eyes followed it, then darted back up at Heller, studying. "That was my sister, wasn't it?"

"Fuckin' family of con artists," he muttered, his arm shifting back into a claw. "Where the fuck did you take them?"

Mercer smirked up at him, almost knowingly. Fuck. And he'd been so looking forward to caving in that pretty face of his.


	2. Interlude: Rooks

The Red Zone was quiet, for once. No flyers in the sky above him; no walkers in the streets below. The odd patrol of Marines or Blackwatch troops passed through in their APCs or trucks, all of them seemingly at a loss. Two long years, and no infected to be seen, but nobody was quite ready to throw a party.

Heller stood on the roof of their new safehouse, watching the sun rise. His daughter was still in bed, Dana probably likewise. He couldn't sleep- didn't have to sleep much, anymore. He held the phone in his hands, flicking the screen on and off as though waiting for something.

It was a long time coming. He'd taken up pacing to pass the time, the sun now high overhead as the morning dragged on, when the phone finally rang. He flipped it on, meeting Rooks' grim expression with his own.

"You're still in the city," the man observed.

"Take you long to figure that out?" Heller grumbled back. The man pissed him off, but Rooks had done him a solid. The least he could do was listen to what he had to say. "I got your text. Seems like every asshole in this city has my number. What the fuck do you want?"

Rooks just scowled into the camera at him. "I still have a lot of things to unfuck, no thanks to you, so let's just cut to the chase. I want you out of the city and out of my way. Take your daughter and go. I'll even provide a chopper."

"Like I couldn't get one myself." Heller resumed pacing, pulling the phone away for a moment so Rooks couldn't see his face. He wanted nothing more than to leave NYZ behind, but things were suddenly more complicated than that. Fucking Mercers. "I can't leave yet," he finally replied. "I have my own situation to unfuck."

Rooks raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't question further. Heller's murderous expression probably told him everything. "Then stay the fuck out my business and I'll stay out of yours. Do we have a deal?" He seemed to think for a moment, then added, "And that means no more eating my men. Jesus, do you know how hard it is to find a competent officer around here?"

"Fuck if I know," Heller smirked. "I haven't seen one yet."


End file.
